


Chance Your Arm

by PUNCH



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Drunk McCree is Silly, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hanzo has the patience of a saint, M/M, Post-Recall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:34:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21955972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PUNCH/pseuds/PUNCH
Summary: A chronological record of the many times Jesse has been in Hanzo's arms.
Relationships: Jesse McCree/Hanzo Shimada
Comments: 10
Kudos: 150





	Chance Your Arm

**Author's Note:**

> This is my Target Practice Discord Secret Santa gift for [Aredesification](https://twitter.com/aredesification) !
> 
> I hope you like it, Aredesification! ^.^ I also hope that you, and everybody else reading this, has a Merry Christmas!

**14 February 2076**

The first time Jesse fell into Hanzo’s arms, it was during Hanzo’s first official mission since having been cleared for duty. It was supposed to be a simple mission — get in, copy some data onto a flash drive, get out. 

Of course, there had never been a day in Jesse’s life wherein Talon had made anything easy for him. Jesse was running across a bridge and away from half a dozen Talon goons when an undetected sniper shot the cowboy in the hip.

As hot agony blossomed from the wound, Jesse took a breath and pitched himself over the edge of the bridge. Better to take his chances with the fall than risk letting Talon drag him back with them.

He had expected a painful death — he hadn’t expected to fall right into Hanzo’s arms.

“Tch.” Hanzo disdainfully sneered down his nose bridge at Jesse, even as the archer took off running for the Orca. Many different sensations and thoughts bombarded Jesse’s senses at once — Hanzo was  _ strong, _ carting him off like he weighed nothing. How had Hanzo been in the right place at the right time? Oh, his vision was dimming from blood loss…

Before he faded off into unconsciousness, he heard Hanzo grumble under his breath. “Reckless…”

* * *

**2 September 2076**

“I ain’t so bad, right, darlin’?” 

Jesse’s Southern drawl was thicker tonight than it was usually, undoubtedly a side-effect of all the alcohol the cowboy had imbued over the past few hours. Hanzo was finding it difficult to focus on holding a conversation with him at all when he was already struggling to support the cowboy’s weight without the both of them collapsing into a heap on the sidewalk. A part of Hanzo was irritated. Trust the stupid cowboy not to know when to stop drinking...

The two of them had been involved in a mission in Brighton up until about twelve hours ago. Although the mission had gone off without a hitch, they still decided it was best to detour to London for a night, delaying their return to Gilbraltar. Just in case anybody was keeping an eye out for suspicious movements. 

Unfortunately, Jesse had taken Hanzo’s agreement to enjoy a night out on the town tonight as permission to get blackout drunk. So now, escorting a drunk Jesse back to their rented motel room was suddenly Hanzo’s problem.

“Stop talking,” Hanzo snapped irritably as Jesse continued to blabber on. When had the cowboy gotten so  _ heavy? _

“No, ‘m serious,” Jesse continued to slur, just as Hanzo helped him across the street. “Yer can make fun of my serape and boots all ya want, sugar. But I don’t look so bad. Right?”

Hanzo pressed his lips together into a thin line, praying for patience. He’d foolishly teased Jesse about his trademark attire earlier on in the night. And now, the cowboy wouldn’t let it go, somehow interpreting Hanzo’s teasing as an accusation that Hanzo thought him ugly. 

“Aww, Han,” Jesse complained, as Hanzo hissed at him to shut up. There was enough distance between London and Brighton that they should be safe, but Hanzo still didn’t like taking the unnecessary risk of using their real names here if they didn’t have to. “Come on. I ain’t good, ain’t bad, but… I sure as hell ain’t ugly. Right?”

Hanzo tugged Jesse up to their motel room’s door, grateful that they’d rented a shitty cheap motel like this -- it meant that they could slink unnoticed to their room instead of having to make their way through a lobby. 

“Here I thought yer liked me,” Jesse continued to moan. “I mean, yer prickly as a porcupine, but I thought yer been sweet on me lately… I thought we were friends…”

Sighing heavily, Hanzo made sure to lock the door behind them and pull Jesse to the couch beside the bed. He was not sharing the bed with Jesse, and he thought it appropriate that Jesse be punished with spending his night on the couch after the hell he’d put Hanzo through tonight. 

“Han,” Jesse whined tearfully, grabbing fistfuls of the front of Hanzo’s tee shirt as the archer lowered him into a sitting position on the couch. Hanzo’s gaze snapped to Jesse’s face in alarm. Was the cowboy  _ crying? _ Utterly appalled, the archer discovered that there were actually glistening tears in Jesse’s eyes, threatening to spill over his waterline. Those same eyes were wide and pleading, and no matter how Hanzo swatted at him, he refused to let go of Hanzo’s shirt. “Don’t ya go breakin’ my heart. Tell me I ain’t ugly, doll.” 

Hanzo sighed again, long and heavy and long-suffering. He could feel a headache clawing at his temples. “I never said you were ugly,” Hanzo grit out as he took a seat on the couch next to the ridiculous cowboy. 

“But… yer don’t think I  _ am _ ugly, do ya?” Jesse asked.

Hanzo rolled his eyes and looked up at the ceiling, counting backwards from ten before he answered Jesse again. “You’re not ugly, McCree,” he said flatly after a moment, even awkwardly wrapping his arms around Jesse’s shoulders in what he hoped was a comforting manner. Hanzo was still not used to displaying or receiving acts of physical affection, but if it would prevent Jesse from crying, Hanzo would do it.

Jesse all but threw himself into Hanzo’s embrace, returning the hug with thick tanned arms wrapped tightly around Hanzo’s middle. Jesse pressed his face against the side of Hanzo’s neck and sobbed loudly in relief, and Hanzo found himself soothingly rubbing a hand over the cowboy’s broad back. How had his search for redemption led to this?

* * *

**20 June 2077**

Jesse stumbled over his feet as he raced back to his room. He could hear Lena and Mei calling his name from the helipad, but he couldn’t face them right now. No, Jesse needed to be alone.

They met Reaper earlier in Dorado. They were fighting, and then Reaper took off into the sewers, and Jesse had followed. He’d followed, and he’d caught up with Reaper, and then-

-and then Reaper had taken off his mask.

Seeing who Reaper really was tore Jesse’s heart apart. They managed to finish the mission with no casualties, but Jesse was a tumultuous mess, both physically and mentally. His heart wouldn’t stop racing, his hands shaky and sweaty as a million thoughts raced through his head. How? When? Why?

Rounding a corner blindly, Jesse stumbled straight into Hanzo as the archer emerged from his own room. Jesse swayed for a moment, the impact shifting his center of gravity out from beneath him. Hanzo’s hands were there in an instant, stabilizing Jesse and preventing him from falling.

Hanzo was annoyed. Jesse could see it in the lines on his face and in the curl of his lip. But the annoyance quickly drained from his face as he took in Jesse’s current state, concern taking its place.

“Are you alright?” Hanzo asked after a pregnant, considering moment. Hanzo sounded wary, but Jesse had spent enough time with Hanzo to recognize the note of concern that was lurking underneath.

Jesse paused. The lie was right on the tip of his tongue. A simple deflection would be easy. But somehow, all those nights spent chatting with Hanzo and getting to know him surfaced at the forefront of Jesse’s mind. He thought of Hanzo’s gentle smiles, the lines etched into the planes of his face, his warm eyes lit by the setting sun. He thought of the easy camaraderie that built up between them over all these months. 

“No, I’m really not,” Jesse sobbed instead, letting Hanzo support his weight as his knees buckled beneath him, the cowboy dissolving into a fit of sobs and cries. 

Wordlessly, Hanzo dragged Jesse back into his room and held him tightly as they both slid to the floor, the door sliding shut behind them. Hanzo soothingly rubbed one hand over the cowboy’s broad back as Jesse shook and cried, much like that one time in the motel room so many months ago, yet completely different. Later on, Jesse would be just as grateful for Hanzo’s silence as he was for his presence and warm arms. 

  
  


* * *

**25 December 2077**

There were only a handful of agents at the Watchpoint at the moment, the rest of them still finishing up missions that had come in right before the holiday season. But the quiet wouldn’t deter one cowboy with an unstoppable Christmas spirit -- Jesse McCree was up in the Watchpoint kitchen at one in the morning, merrily putting up Christmas decorations.

He’d carefully planned for this day months in advance. A custom-made navy blue cashmere serape sat neatly folded in a wrapped box under the Christmas tree, gold intricate trimming running all along the fabric’s outer edges. Hanzo’s name had been scrawled on the wrapping paper in Jesse’s chicken scratch handwriting, and Jesse had rehearsed exactly what he’d say to the archer when he presented him his gift. Hanzo had come to mean a lot to Jesse over the past two years, and Jesse cherished him a lot. In fact, Jesse cherished him so much that he wouldn’t mind at all if their friendship progressed to something beyond friendship altogether.

A mission that’d ran over its estimated duration prevented Jesse from putting up Christmas decorations earlier, but Jesse refused to be demoralised by a couple less hours of sleep. He wanted everything to be perfect for when he talked to Hanzo on Christmas morning.

“I don’t care about the presents underneath the Christmas tree…” Jesse sang alongside Mariah Carey with gusto, perched precariously on a wobbly wooden bar stool. Fairy lights dangled from his beefy arms, Jesse carefully looping the wires around metal hooks drilled into the ceiling just for this annual holiday. 

“ I just want you for my own, more than you could ever know…” he continued, getting down onto the ground just so he could reposition the stool underneath the next hook.

“Make my wish come true, all I want for Christmas is…” Jesse stepped back up onto the stool and made sure to dramatically imitate Mariah Carey’s vocal run on the word  _ is,  _ “you…”

As the upbeat piano melody took over in the song, Jesse fully let loose in a way he hardly ever allowed himself to any other time of the year. He bobbed his head, tapped his feet, shook his hips—

With a loud, high pitched shriek, Jesse flailed helplessly as the stool tilted below him, his heart leaping into his throat at the realization he was going to fall—

—Fortunately, Hanzo was there to catch him. Jesse didn’t know how Hanzo had approached so quietly, didn’t know how long Hanzo had been standing there, didn’t know how much of his atrocious dancing Hanzo had witnessed, but he did know that Hanzo’s arms were warm and solid against him, a firm promise that the archer would not let him fall.

As Jesse gasped for air and willed his pounding heart to calm, he noticed with no small amount of mortification the amused expression that threatened to creep onto Hanzo’s face. Jesse easily recognized the tense jaw muscles and crinkled eye corners that betrayed that Hanzo was just shy of laughing out loud. “Yeah, alright, laugh it up,” Jesse grumbled half-heartedly, his cheeks flaming up from embarrassment. “Yer never lost yer balance before?” Jesse wished that the earth beneath him would just open up and swallow him whole.

Hanzo, to his credit, merely gracefully bowed his head and regained his composure, succeeding in refraining from laughing. “I have never known of anyone who almost died because of Mariah Carey,” he said conversationally, gently putting Jesse on the ground, feet first.

“It’s a catchy song,” Jesse grumbled defensively in response, quickly turning away and busying himself with picking up the fallen bar stool so that he didn’t have to look Hanzo in the face.

Unbeknownst to Jesse, Hanzo watched him fondly. “Christmas is not a religious holiday in Japan,” Hanzo suddenly commented airily.

Jesse was thrown enough by Hanzo’s non-sequitur that he actually turned back to look at Hanzo. “What?”

Unless it was a trick of the light, Hanzo’s cheeks were looking awfully rosy all of a sudden. “Not many people are particularly religious in Japan. Instead, Christmas for us is a holiday usually spent with one’s… romantic partner.” 

Hanzo held Jesse’s gaze, and Jesse stared stupidly back. What was Hanzo going on about, all of a sudden? Jesse forced down the little bubble of hope that was starting to bloom in his chest. Surely Hanzo wasn’t getting at what Jesse thought he might be...

“I have been thinking about this for some months now, and I was wondering…” Hanzo faltered mid-sentence, visibly hesitating. Then he lifted his chin and continued on, boldly and bravely. “I was wondering if you would like to join me for dinner. At a restaurant. In a fashion that is... more than platonic.”

It was the most awkward way anyone had ever asked Jesse out, and yet, Jesse just about had hearts in his eyes right at that moment. “Oh, darlin’,” Jesse crooned, his embarrassment from just a few minutes ago all but forgotten. “I ain’t thought you’d ever ask.”

For many years to come, Jesse would reminisce about all the times he’d fallen into Hanzo’s arms in the past, and wonder when the exact moment had been when he’d fallen for Hanzo.

**Author's Note:**

> chance your arm: to take a risk in order to get something that you want


End file.
